The other day, my beautiful daughter, Michaela, posted the letter below on her Facebook page.

If you are in your tweens/teens and feel alone, please know that you are not the first to feel like you don’t quite measure up. Things will probably get better and the things you’re learning now are making you stronger.

If you are the parent of a tween/teen remind them every day how much you love them and not just because they’re you’re kid and you have to, but because he or she is a beautiful person worthy of love.

Dear 12-year-old Michaela,

The first thing I want you to know is no matter how alone you feel right now, no matter how much you think nobody cares, your mom is your best friend and she gets you.

Being chubby is not the end of the world. I’m sorry that your peers seem to think it is. Fat does not equal ugly. Being mean and cruel is ugly. You are beautiful.

I know something really bad just happened to you. I know you’re scared. I know you are ashamed. Talk about it. Tell people. Talk to a counsellor. It’s not your fault. I promise you it’s not your fault.

I know you think you’ll never be one of the pretty girls. You are a pretty girl. Nobody needs to tell you. You have a beautiful heart, and soul and your outsides are beautiful too. Stop comparing yourself to them. You’re nothing like them.

Not everyone is going to like you, and that is so far beyond ok. It’s nothing you did. I know how hard you’re trying but sometimes people just don’t click. Michaela, let it go.
The sooner you learn to love yourself and that you are worthy of love, the happier you will be. It’s hard, it’s so so hard. But it’s coming.

Don’t feel ashamed for talking to a therapist. They are there to help you and everyone should. Shit gets hard, Michaela. You’re not weak, you’re human. Don’t be afraid to move. It’s not going to be perfect but so much good will come out of it, it doesn’t even matter.

Tell people you love them. It’s not lame. If you feel it, say it. It will change people and people will love you for it. Don’t ever be afraid to love.

Be proud of who you are, Michaela. You’re good enough. In fact, you’re so far beyond just enough. You are kind, and generous and sweet. You have so much love to give. Give it. It will come back in waves.

Never stop playing sports. I know there will be a time where it feels like you don’t even have time to breathe, but when you get that time back, get back to it.

On the same note, never stop doing what you love. Don’t let anyone’s darkness steal your passion. Your passion and joy is amazing. It isn’t lame. Screw anyone who says it is.

12-year-old me, I love you. I’m so sorry it’s so hard right now. I’m sorry you feel alone but people love you. You have no idea how good it’s going to get so please don’t be afraid. You are so beautiful. You are worthy. You are amazing. I love you, girl. It’s going to be ok.

Thank you Michaela for allowing me to share your beautiful letter on my blog. I hope it will help someone else to not feel so alone and hopeless.

It’s scary to be vulnerable, isn’t it? It makes you feel weak, and even worse it makes you appear weak to others.

Suppose you don’t know what to do about a situation at work, if you ask for help, would it seem like you cannot do the job you were hired to do?

Suppose you are grieving the loss of someone close to you, or are worried about the circumstances a loved one has found themselves in, if you talk about it or cry, would it seem as though you are too emotional?

What if you’re afraid to go to the dentist, or a job interview, or know you need to admit you were wrong about something, if you hesitate or show any anxiety, would you look like a coward?

I grew up believing it did. Crying was weak. Smiling or laughing made you look foolish. The only acceptable emotion was anger, which somehow proved that you were strong.

It can take years to finally know that vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage.

When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth.

Billy – age 4

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ Love ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Some say…

Love is a feeling dependent on current circumstances. Love is a made up human construct. Love is finicky. Love is possessing. Love hurts. Love doesn’t last. Love is a nice word for lust. Love must be earned. I’ll only love you if you love me. Love means you would take the blame for me. Love means I own you. Love makes you weak. Love is irrational.

Others say…

Love your neighbor as yourself. Love is a verb. Love is forever. Love is unconditional. Love is the answer to every question. Love is selfless. Love is letting go. Love is an act of your will. Love nourishes. Love wants the best for you. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love makes you strong. Love makes you feel like you belong.

I have heard so much about love and what it means to people. But never have I heard such an eloquent way to describe love as stated by 4-year old Billy in the above quote.

There are many men who feel a kind of twister pride in cynicism; there are many who confine themselves to criticism of the way others do what they themselves dare not even attempt. There is no more unhealthy being, no man less worthy of respect, than he who either really holds, or feigns to hold, an attitude of sneering disbelief toward all that is great and lofty, whether in achievement or in that noble effort which, even if it fails, comes to second achievement. A cynical habit of thought and speech, a readiness to criticize work which the critic himself never tries to perform, an intellectual aloofness which will not accept contact with life’s realities – all these are marks, not as the possessor would fain to think, of superiority but of weakness. They mark the men unfit to bear their part painfully in the stern strife of living, who seek, in the affection of contempt for the achievements of others, to hide from others and from themselves in their own weakness. The role is easy; there is none easier, save only the role of the man who sneers alike at both criticism and performance. “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

SHE SPOKE TO ME ONCE on a warm summer day. I was sitting on my balcony drinking coffee. She pointed at the house next door. A yellow notice was fastened to the fence, it said that the property was being re-zoned for business. She didn’t like that, said she wasn’t sure what that would mean for the neighbourhood…

~

I’m guessing she’s well into her 80’s and it would surprise me if she weighs 100 pounds. There’s a nervous energy about her – always looking around and jumpy at the sign of any noise or movement. I have never seen anyone visit her and suspect she is alone in this world.

Truth be told, she has an abrasive way about her. On some days, I have avoided any eye contact, not willing to endure her wrath. I’ve watched her as she drives her car slowly around the block, hazard lights blinking, and stops in the middle of the street in front of my place to the irritation of many a driver behind her. When they honk their horn, she gestures angrily for them to pass. She carefully opens the car door, checks both ways and crosses the street slowly as if unsure of her footing. Holding my breath for fear that she might be hit by a car, I’ve willed her to cross the street quickly in my mind.

Once a man from the city’s parking authority approached her to ask her to move her car off the street. I remember thinking, ‘uh oh, this isn’t gonna be pretty.’ Much to my surprise though, in a strained, airy voice she pleasantly agreed to do so and walked to her car. When he had rounded the corner, she – perhaps in defiance, left her car where it was and fed the birds before returning to her car and driving home.

~

…SHE SHUFFLED CLOSER to my balcony. So frail, she looked like she might tip over – like a gust of wind might knock her down. She told me in a whisper, as if her next words were a secret, that her best friend, who had passed away some time back used to live in my apartment. They used to visit and sprinkle bird seed under that exact tree right in front of my place.

I’d seen her feed the birds many times over the years, even on the coldest days. I knew she lived down the street and had wondered why she didn’t feed them at her place. Now I knew – she was honouring the memory of a friend.

~ HUMP DAY CHRONICLES ~

I saw her again last night. I don’t even know her name. I think I need to rectify that.

“Spring, you are such a tease. Let me know when you’re ready to commit and we’ll talk.”

Seriously, spring is a tease!

The boughs of this tree are weighed down with snow

Last week it was 19c that’s about 67f in American!

Her tweet made me laugh – mostly at myself and my own frustration with a winter that seems to be lasting longer than ever.

Waiting for Spring

I have been waiting for spring since February!

The truth is, winter isn’t lasting longer than any other year and I feel this way every year.

Get a grip Diana, after all you live in Canada – why are you surprised?

Well enough is enough.

I need to get out there – with or without spring!

So on Monday in -10c weather

8th Street SW, Mount Royal area

I dressed in layers

put on a hat

grabbed my way-too-expensive down-filled coat and with camera in hand set out for a walk.

Once out there I realized it wasn’t so bad after all.

The sun was shining brightly, causing me to squint and my legs were happy to be moving.

What else I’m waiting for?

Not a fan of waiting at the best of times, my frustration with winter got me to thinking about what else I might be waiting for and why?

If you’ve ever been in a place where you were doing exactly what you knew you should be doing

It used to be said that Calgary has 2 seasons: construction and winter. Lately the two just seem to blend into each other…

and something happened that closed that chapter in your life, you may be able to relate to what I’m about to tell you next.

For the last 2 1/2 years I’ve been waiting out a different kind of winter

waiting for inspiration

waiting for that next opportunity to present itself

waiting for a different kind of spring.

Could it be that it’s time to just stop waiting?

Could it be that I simply need to act and just go do what I am meant to do?

~

But here’s the thing.

I’m afraid.

The Calgary Tower on the right was the tallest building when it was built in the late 60’s. It makes me chuckle to think now that when one is on the observation deck, one can also look up at offices as well as looking down at the folks below.